


Any Old Music

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard was getting used to this way of life, until he spent a night with Tiberius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Old Music

Leonard usually charged at least 200 credits for this sort of thing—to actually go home with someone. He had child support to pay, after all, not to mention alimony. And after they'd dismissed him from the hospital after one drunken shift too many, this was the best method he'd found to make some fast cash. But for this guy— _this_ guy...he would have done it for half as much. There was just something about him: a kindness in the eyes that radiated warmth, even behind the lusty smile, not to mention a body that wouldn't quit.

The funny thing was, the guy actually offered him 300.

"You rich or something?" Leonard asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked to keep them warm. The guy laughed and shook his head.

"Not really. Just got some extra cash lying around."

"And you're spending it on this?" Leonard couldn't help the incredulous tone; he never got business like this. The other tricks he knew always did better. They were easier on the eyes, less snippy, and they let people grope and touch and sample the goods. Leonard knew he was a bum but he had _some_ self-respect. "Seems like a waste."

"I don't think so," the man replied cheerily. "I've got a good feeling about you."

That didn't make sense to Leonard but nothing this guy did made sense to him, so he just went with it.

The house was decent but kind of dumpy. He hadn't been lying about not being rich. But it was warm and that was good enough for Leonard. Plus, he was offered a glass of Jim Beam almost directly after they walked inside the place. Leonard took it gratefully and drank it down, then gave the man his coat when he gestured for it. He actually hung it on an old-fashioned coat rack.

"So, what can I call you?" the man asked, taking a seat in an armchair.

"Horatio," he automatically said. The man laughed.

"Now, I _know_ that's not your real name."

"It's my middle name," he said gruffly. He was already giving away too much information.

"In that case, call me Tiberius." The man smirked and Leonard stifled a laugh; this guy had gotten even worse luck in the middle-name category than he had, and it was tough to beat Horatio. He slouched and sipped from his own glass of whiskey, nodding at Leonard. "And what do you do, Horatio?"

"Anything you want me to do," he said, shrugging. "You're paying enough."

The man—Tiberius—lifted his brow. "Will you dance for me?"

"Uh...I don't do that, really. Dance. I don't dance."

"You should; you need to loosen up." He paused for Leonard to answer, but he could only lift his hands helplessly, standing there like an awkward idiot. Tiberius exhaled. "I'll throw in an extra fifty credits," he said.

"I don't know _how_."

"Come on, Horatio. You're a smart guy. Just, y'know...use your hips and whatnot." He gestured to Leonard's pelvic region and he rolled his eyes in return.

"Damn it, I used to be a doctor, not a private dancer," he grumbled. Tiberius blinked and sat up straight.

"You're a doctor?" he asked, all bright curiosity. Leonard cursed himself; he really was talking too much.

"Used to be. Don't worry about it."

He started swaying his hips pendulously, as per Tiberius' instructions; he tried not to look as discomfited as he felt, peeling off his too-thin sweater and the worn T-shirt underneath. Leonard slid down his jeans and underwear and Tiberius watched intently, biting down on his knuckle, his eyes a little darker than they'd been when they first arrived.

"You're really bad at this," he finally murmured. "But fuck, you're sexy. You know that?"

Leonard ignored the compliment, arching a brow. "I'm good at _fucking_. And giving head. And other assorted things that don't involve an innate sense of rhythm."

"I'm sure you're good at lots of things, Horatio. Especially better things than this, if you're supposed to be a fucking doctor." He exhaled and then crooked a finger at Leonard, beckoning him over. Leonard went, as miffed as he was by the attempt at the lecture. He willed himself not to shiver when Tiberius ran his hands over his sides and thumbed his hipbones, causing the guy to grin. "Aw, don't be like that," he murmured.

"I'll be however you want me to be," he replied, rather robotically. Tiberius pulled a face and shook his head.

"Don't be like that, either."

He held Leonard's hips still, then, and leaned forward to nuzzle the base of his cock, exhaling hot, hot breath against the thin skin. Leonard gasped softly when the man's dexterous tongue slid along the pronounced vein of his length, then circled down to the crown, flicking dangerously against the slit. It wasn't often that Leonard experienced the pleasure of someone else going down on him—it'd been ages, really, his ex-wife possibly being the last to attempt it. But Tiberius had her beat, hands down, expertly licking and bathing his cock until it was good and hard. Then he sucked it down so swiftly and easily that Leonard couldn't help but guess that Tiberius might have had a bit of a private-dancer past under his own belt. It would have explained the generosity. Leonard placed his hands on Tiberius' shoulders to steady himself, groaning under the ministrations of his hot, slick tongue and the subtly dangerous edge of his teeth. He was getting the goddamn life sucked out of him and every second of it felt like heaven itself, set on fire.

He shuddered when Tiberius stilled his mouth and nudged him to move, encouraging Leonard to plunder and fuck that sweet, ripe, red mouth of his. "Jesus, fuck," he moaned, but he did as he was instructed, rolling his hips to push deeper, grazing the back of the guy's throat. He wanted to hold off, just in case Tiberius wanted to be fucked after this, but he couldn't—not with those blue eyes looking at him like that, and the feel of that thick, cornfield-gold hair under his fingers. He exploded down Tiberius' throat with a strangled sound and somehow thought to reach down and wipe away the excess from the man's mouth when he leaned back.

"Thanks," Tiberius said, and Leonard flushed, suddenly all too aware of what he'd just done. The other man didn't seem to care or notice, just smiled. "No rhythm, my ass."

"Do you want to fuck me now or what?" Leonard blurted. He knew he was being gruff again but he felt strangely exposed and vulnerable; he was showing so much affection to a man he didn't know from Adam, and he somehow sensed, right then and there, that if allowed, he was liable to tell this man _everything_.

He was nearly shaking, he was suddenly so nervous. Tiberius looked at him for a long time and then simply stood, waving a hand.

"Come upstairs with me," he said. "I've got a bed."

But when Leonard went up there with him, Tiberius merely took off his own clothes and tucked them both under the covers, turning off the light. He wrapped an arm around Leonard's middle and he stiffened in response.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, hushed by the sudden lack of light.

"You said I could have anything I want," Tiberius whispered back. "I want this. And I want you to have a good night's sleep. So, goodnight, Horatio."

"Damn it, Tiberius," he muttered. But the coolness of the pillow under his cheek felt so good, and he was already so drowsy thanks to the blowjob and the warmth of the body behind him that he ended up falling asleep without any other complaints.

In the bright light of day, Leonard could see just how young Tiberius was—just a kid, really, his body soft but firm with newly formed muscles that probably weren't there a couple of years before. Thick lashes that a woman might envy fanned delicately against his cheeks and he breathed through parted lips, still puffy and pink from the evening's activity. He'd looked older in the dark, but so did most people.

In a way, he appeared freshly sprung from the good earth, seemingly untouched by the world's twin weights of dread and despair. But then again, a kid didn't pay for someone to hold (or to be held, as things turned out come morning) if he hadn't lived through his own fair share of heartache.

Leonard slid his hand up and down Tiberius' bare torso, pressing his erection between his cheeks and rubbing until the kid sported one of his own. He decided to act like this was normal, like Tiberius wasn't a stranger and they did this every morning. Somehow, he could sense that this was the real reason he was here. Tiberius moaned when Leonard pulled carefully on his cock, arching his back.

"You want this...?" Leonard asked, and just then, just for a second, he wished he knew the guy's first name.

"Yeah," he breathed. " _Please_." He reached back to cup Leonard's nape and the gesture was so damn _trusting_ that he could have burst into tears.

Leonard didn't have the supplies from his coat pocket, but he found what he needed in a messy drawer next to the bed. When he held Tiberius' side and breached him, the kid made a noise that sounded like gratitude. He fucked Tiberius deep and slow, lazy like the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, his mouth damp and warm against that smooth shoulder. And in a way, it was like they were dancing, to any old music, Leonard taking the lead as he held Tiberius' hip, determining the rhythm and the pace. He shimmied and angled until Tiberius' moans grew higher in pitch and his gasps dissolved into unspoken pleas for more of everything—heat, touch, breath.

Guiding him to orgasm was the most natural thing in the world, as if it were exactly what Leonard was born to do. Tiberius kept holding on until Leonard came as well, and any guilt he felt about being paid to have two amazing orgasms in a matter of hours was quelled by the trail of Tiberius' fingertips down the sensitive skin of his thigh.

He left after Tiberius fell back into sleep, finding his clothes where he'd left them downstairs. He didn't bother rummaging through Tiberius' things for the credits he was promised; just took a bit of the Jim Beam for the road, pouring it into his depressingly empty flask. He noted again that the place wasn't much to look at, but the strange, unwarranted desire to stay forever ushered him right out the door.

Leonard saw Tiberius again that night, stumbling out of a bar with his beautiful face caked in blood. Before him had come a slew of Starfleet cadets, some with their own bloodied bruises, some with scarred knuckles, some just keeping their heads down. He suppressed the urge to go over and check him out for serious wounds or internal damage, and instead made sure Tiberius couldn't see him, cowardly hiding behind an old, rusty vehicle that didn't belong to him until the guy was on his motorcycle, zooming out of sight.

He went home after that, suddenly sickened by the idea of giving himself to someone who wasn't Tiberius, even if it did pay the bills. This life wasn't for him; he was too brusque and emotional, too attached to the idea that people needed more than anonymous sex to make it through each day, even after all he'd been through. And like Tiberius, first paying for a notion that didn't pan out and then blindly searching for something more at the receiving end of someone's fist, Leonard had been putting all his stakes on a horse that'd never get past the stable door.

There were other ways to pay the bills, he decided. And the sight of all those Starfleet cadets dressed in their fancy duds as they walked away from the scene of an unfair fight—those so-called wannabe _peacekeepers_ —gave him a crazy idea.

He could be himself again. He could do more.

The only problem was that he was scared shitless of flying. The rickety shuttles they put these kids on weren't safe, but he supposed that came with the territory; all these recruits were here for the sole purpose of throwing themselves headfirst into space and darkness, the cold, blunt end of danger.

Including one who made a habit of flinging himself into fists.

"I might throw up you," Leonard muttered, for lack of anything else to say. Then the kid—looking worse for wear than the day before but still pretty goddamn gorgeous—had the balls to contradict him. And that just set him off, because he wasn't so self-assured when he'd been curled up under the blankets, clutching Leonard's arm closer to him, had he? So Leonard lectured and bitched about his bad fortune and spat vitriol because he wasn't Tiberius' trick anymore; he was a doctor, goddamn it—a doctor who once had a life that wasn't like this—and he could shut him up if he damn well pleased.

The kid seemed to like that.

"Jim Kirk," he said in the end, Tiberius no longer.

"McCoy. Leonard McCoy."

And since he couldn't give Jim another dance at the moment, strapped too securely to his seat, Leonard held out his flask and offered him a drink instead.


End file.
